AN: Trying to get these uploaded a little faster! Don't want the plot to stagnate. Please R&R if you're enjoying the story. Feedback is the best thing you can ever give a writer!

The expression that grew on Cora's features was unlike any Rhea had ever seen on her. She was smirking, eyes narrowed and lips curved sharply at the edges, as if she were fighting shameful amusement. Rhea had barely recognized her out of her Shinra uniform, now wearing tight leather pants and a hooded trench coat. Her smile grew as Deimos wrapped his arm around her waist.

"That's right," Deimos said. "Cora and I met after I awoke from my coma—both of us left homeless by Meteor and the mess left in Shinra's wake. Together we formed the new Hydra."

"But…but you…" Rhea stammered, gawking at the woman. She didn't know how she hadn't figured it out sooner. It was the perfect plan. Infiltrate Shinra and bring it down from the inside. But why hadn't they yet? Cora must have had thousands of opportunities to kidnap or kill Rufus. Why were they still holding back?

"Cora was originally assigned to do what you did," Deimos continued, "but no chemistry every sparked. Even with her clearance, Cora was never allowed access to the president's office without him there. Rather than risk her getting fired, we decided to hold out for a more promising opportunity."

Rhea looked from Cora to Deimos. Both wore the same evil grin. "Why didn't you just kill him and take the files yourself?" Rhea blurted. The panic in her mind removed the filter from her words. Cora stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Because, Rhea," said Deimos. "This is so much bigger than that." He released his grip on Cora's waist and moved toward where Rhea sat on the bed. "How do you think we've been able to survive as long as we have?" he asked, stopping mere inches from her. Rhea averted her gaze and shook her head. Deimos suddenly took her chin roughly in his hand, bringing her eyes back to him. She gasped and trembled. "Because up until we found you, no one even knew we existed." Rhea looked into the swirling depths of his blind eye, her reflection staring back at her in its glassy surface. He released her and spun away. "Hydra got too cocky before," he continued. "We thought nobody could touch us. It cost us dearly." He turned back to her and tapped the white lock that fell across his forehead. "You, me, and Reno were the only ones to escape that fate. That's why we have to strike back. That's why we have to stay alive, no matter what the cost."

"You mean… Reno…?"

Deimos shook his head. "I'm afraid he's a lost cause. A traitor. In too deep to glean him back from Shinra." He paused, eyes boring into her. "I hope it's not too late for you, my little spitfire. I was beginning to worry you might actually be in love with that chump of a president."

Rhea tensed up, her throat going dry. Thoughts wheeled around her mind like thousands of frightened animals, struggling to get out. Half of her wanted to stand up and put another bullet in his head, but the other half, the half of her that had never fully recovered, wanted nothing more than his approval and acceptance.

"So?" Deimos said at last, coming back to stand before her, extending his hand. "Are you in?"

Rhea looked at the cracked and worn surface of his palm. She knew, no matter how much she had come to care for Rufus, no matter how much he had done to protect her and heal her old wounds, it was much too late for her to return to him. For now, as it had been some twelve years before, it was Hydra or die.

She slipped her hand into his, feeling his rough skin close tightly around it.

Gunfire echoed off the walls of the firing range, each shot swallowing up the sound of the one before it. The blasts were muffled by the ear protection he wore, but the flash of the muzzle shone brightly with each round fired. Rufus flexed his index finger back and forth in rapid succession, holding his wrist steady to absorb the recoil. He fired until the magazine clicked empty. The lights came up and the target flew down the range, riddled with holes in its cardboard head and chest. Rufus removed his earmuffs and safety glasses, inspecting his work.

He jumped at the sound of a slow clapping echoing off the cold stone walls. He wheeled around, hand on the fresh magazine clipped to his belt. Rufus relaxed as the visitor came into the light: Tseng.

"I think you might have beaten my record, Mr. President," he said, smiling.

"Tseng," Rufus said. "You should know better than to sneak up on me in here." He spun away, raising his handgun and releasing the spent magazine into his hand. He placed it on the shelf in front of him.

"I apologize, sir," Tseng said, taking a few steps forward. "I'm simply here to report on our investigation."

Rufus slammed a fresh magazine into the gun. He turned to the Turk. "Have you found something?"

"I wasn't able to locate her current whereabouts, and Rude tells me she didn't attend to her class today," Tseng explained. "However, we heard reports from some of our informants saying they saw a woman matching her description in the slums last night. They wouldn't say who she was with."

Rufus turned toward the range again and racked the slide on his 9mm, pushing a round into the chamber. "Can we trust these informants?" he asked, low and steady.

"I have no reason not to," Tseng replied.

Rufus flipped the switch to send the targets back down the range. "Then why wouldn't they say who she was with?"

"I have a feeling they were spooked."

Rufus turned his head a bit, catching Tseng's worried expression out of the corner of his eye. He pursed his lips and thumbed the safety of his handgun. He knew what Tseng meant, but a part of him refused to believe it.

"I advise a thorough internal investigation," Tseng continued. The tone of his voice was respectful, as always.

"Is that your professional opinion, Tseng?" Rufus asked. The Turk nodded. "And what would your personal opinion be?"

"I might check even a bit closer to home," Tseng replied.

Rufus exhaled long and slow, his chest growing concave from the force of it. After a beat of silence, he flipped his earmuffs over his head and pulled on his glasses. "That'll be all, Tseng," he said, raising his weapon.

Tseng gave a curt bow. "Yes, sir." He turned and swept out of the firing range. When Rufus heard the muffled sound of the door closing, he unleashed a barrage of rounds, no longer caring whether or not he hit his target.

Rhea paused her brisk walk home to stop in front of the Materia shop. She lost track of time standing in front of the building, the place she'd once lived for several painful months, too sick to even feed herself. It was now boarded up, its neon sign dimmed to black. There were several eviction notices posted on the front door. She was ashamed. In only two months, her life had been flipped upside down, only to be turned inside out in an instant. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be, but she never really understood what that had meant in the first place. Was she always meant to leave her old life behind? Was she really supposed to fall in love with Rufus? Had Deimos been destined to return to her life all along? She felt as though she were living out the book of her life, only someone else was holding the pen.

A siren blared in the distance. Rhea turned her head down the street to watch a police car fly by. She remembered the paranoia that had once surged through her at those sounds, and how it had crept back into her mind now that she found herself associated with Hydra again. She had spent the day with Deimos and Cora, adjusting herself to the headquarters and the new roles she would be taking on. It was determined that she would continue to play her part as a double agent, keeping herself close to Rufus should they have need for him again. When she had asked Deimos what future roles she would play in their plans, he bottled up.

"It's best we don't divulge too much information," he'd said. "If your cover is blown, we don't want the whole operation going to shit."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Rhea had asked, desperate for some sort of mental foothold one way or the other.

"Just sit tight for now," Deimos told her. "We'll contact you again soon with new directives."

With that, he'd sent her on her way, alone and directionless. It felt much like it had those twelve years ago, when she'd been freed from Hydra for the first time. She was unsure about what to do next. She didn't feel she had enough dirt on their plans to reveal them to Rufus, and even if she did, they might still have time to cut off and go underground before Shinra could root them out. On the other hand, Deimos had promised her protection and acceptance, something she'd pined for since the death of her parents. Thought it was Rufus who had been the first one to offer these things to her, Deimos had made Rhea feel like a traitor for accepting them. In the four years she'd spent with Hydra as a child, she'd been brainwashed into thinking they were a family, and that Shinra was the enemy. While age and a sober mind had suppressed those notions, Deimos's untimely return brought them boiling to the surface again. She was unsure of what "loyalty" really meant anymore.

Dusk was settling down over the slums, and Rhea hurried through the streets to return to her apartment. She'd missed her class that day—it hadn't even crossed her mind while she'd been with Deimos, but she would have to continue attending if she were to maintain her cover. It also meant she would have to keep up communications with Rufus. Any more suspicious activity might bring the Turks snooping.

She jogged across town, dipping through alleys and back streets until she came upon her apartment. After a swift ride in the elevator and a swipe of her keycard, Rhea pushed open the door to her home, throwing her keys on the counter. She turned her eyes to the living room as the door clicked closed behind her, and almost screamed at the sight.

A head of blonde hair peeked over the top of her sofa, a cigarette hanging from the hand that lay thrown over the back of it. Rufus turned his head to her before he stood, taking a drag from his cigarette. Rhea crunched her hands into fists.

"How did you get in here?" she asked, words dripping with contempt.

Rufus pulled his free hand from his pocket, a black card slipped between his fingers. "Master key," he said simply.

"And what do you want?" There was no inquisitive inflection in her voice—pure demand.

"You haven't been answering my calls."

"I've been busy."

Rufus moved around the couch, slipping his hand into his pocket again. "You didn't report to your class today."

"Do you keep tabs on all your hookups?" she asked. "Or just the ones on your dime?"

He moved closer to her now, gliding across the floor like a spirit. "I was worried about you."

There was sincerity in the reply, but it didn't satisfy her. "Why?" she said, voice a low whisper. "Why do you get to do this to me?"

"Because…" he said, taking a drag from his cigarette, eyes alight in the flare of the embers. "Because it's my responsibility to look after you. And because you don't seem to realize how much—" He stopped himself, lips twitching into a tight line.

"How much what?"

The wheels of thought turned in his eyes, desperately trying to backtrack over the words that fell between the cracks of silence. "How much you're hurting yourself."

It was Rhea now that looked at him with pity, her head giving a slow, disappointed shake. "What do you know about hurt, Rufus Shinra?"

His chest filled with a dignified breath, his arm falling to his side. "I don't know," he said, slow and deliberate. "Maybe nothing. But I know what it looks like." His fingers twitched with intent, but no action followed. "I just want you to know… You don't have to hurt if you don't want to."

Rhea wished he would just take her into his arms, wished he would hold her so tight that she ceased to exist on her own. "I don't want to be your responsibility."

"Then prove it."

Rhea clamped her tongue between her jaws until it hurt. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, both good and bad. She wanted to yell and scream and cry and laugh with him, to lay suspended in some alternate reality where only they existed. But she realized that she had no idea how to give him what he wanted, or what he wanted at all.

Rhea flinched as Rufus suddenly lifted his arm, fingertips stretching out toward her face. He paused before pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes fell to the angry scar that exposed itself, brushing his thumb across it, cigarette crackling softly beside her ear.

"Help yourself," he said softly. "If you don't want my help, then help yourself."

She leaned into his touch, loving it and hating it at the same time. It was cold—always cold, and always fleeting. Just as soon as it had come, it left, fallen away and brought back to his lips to inhale from his cigarette. It was never enough.

He moved by her, smothering his cigarette in the ash tray that lay on her counter. She imagined what it would feel like if he had put it out on her skin, twisting it into the crook of her elbow until the embers cauterized her nerve endings. That pain would be better than accepting the emptiness that was slowly creeping into her heart.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rufus move toward the exit. She didn't have the will to turn to him, even when she heard door creak open. The room was silent for many moments. She felt the cooler air from the hall slip into the room, bringing a shiver to her bare legs. Finally, two muffled footsteps broke the air, followed shortly thereafter by the creak and slam of the door.